Unknown Title: Experimental Fic Sniplet
by Mewsman
Summary: Plot bunnies a 'jumpin, and someone has to deal with them. This is a sniplet of my newest pet project, so all you kind ('.') fanfictioneers can check it out and maybe leave a review so I can know how I'm doing. Name and summary will change once the story can be classified as such.


Three boys entered and Harry recognized the middle one at once: it was the pale boy from Madam Malkin's robe shop. He was looking at Harry with a lot more interest than he'd shown back in Diagon Alley.

"Is it true?" he said. "They're saying all down the train that Harry Potter is in this compartment. So it's you, is it?"

"Yes," said Harry. He was looking at the other boys. Both of them were thickset and looked extremely mean. Standing on either side of the pale boy they looked like bodyguards.

"Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle," said the pale boy carelessly, noticing where Harry was looking. "And my name is Malfoy, Draco Malfoy."

Ron gave a slight cough, which might have been hiding a snigger. Draco Malfoy looked at him.

"Think my name is funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles and more children than they can afford."

He turned back to Harry.

"You'll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."

He held out his hand to shake Harry's, but Harry didn't take it. _Do it. You don't want to be bullied, here, as well? _The voice was soft and clear, his own, and spoke out clearly in his head, ringing, echoing_. _In his mind forgotten pain flared back up, and in that moment he could clearly see Dudley standing above him, kicking him violently. His arm was broken that day.

They shook hands, and Harry was pleased his new acquaintance had a tight, firm grip. He was certain he had been trained to do just that; first impressions where everything, after all.

A smile spread slowly over Malfoy's face then, and the icy facade melted away like a cube of ice in the sun.

"A wise decision, no doubt. Shall we relocate elsewhere, away from the riffraff?" The blonde boy looked around the cabin with disdain, tilting his nose upwards in a motion so choreographed Harry was certain he'd been perfecting it all his life, and had to stifle a laugh.

It would not do to offend the Pureblood scion, he knew, and nodded his head simply in answer. Malfoy turned to leave, but in the last moment he caught Harry throwing a sidelong glance at the size-able mound of sweets.

"Well? Grab the candy and let's go already," Malfoy snapped to Crabbe and Goyle, seemingly annoyed that they had not already done so, but he snuck off a smirk in Harry's general direction the very same. It said everything that had to be said.

They quickly scooped up the sweets, simply flexing a muscle when Ron appeared to want to intervene.

"You can't be going with these people, Harry? Don't you know what side they are on?" The ginger boy appeared quite desperate to keep him there, Harry thought, but he was quite interested at what he had to say, still, even if he had no intention of actually staying. Before he could question him, however, and unknowingly make a fool out of himself in front of Malfoy, the blonde took the task upon himself.

"Sides, Weasley? Are you certain you know just _what _you are talking about?"

Harry had to admit, Malfoy was quite skilled in what he did; or at least so it seemed to his mind, age eleven. With the way Ron had reacted to Malfoy's name and his general attitude earlier on, he could safely say the ginger was heading right into a corner he probably wouldn't get out of.

"You're just another filthy Slytherin _death-eater _like your _evil _father!" To the redhead's defense, he seemed quite entrenched in his beliefs, fully attached to his inherited prejudice. Not that the Malfoy package didn't come with some of that of his own, he mused as he observed a layer of frost rapidly spreading through the blonde's eyes, bars of metal slamming down atop.

It was cold, steely eyes that met swirling blue pools, sparkling of azure and sapphires, yet still ignited from within with _justified _anger, as Draco Malfoy locked gazes with Ronald Weasley.

"What was that?" the blonde boy hissed, eyes narrowing in anger as his right hand slowly moved towards one of the pockets in his robe.

Personally, Harry was disappointed in both of them, and settled with crossing his arms over his chest. The other two boys in the compartment had finished stuffing their pockets with sweets, and was now towering behind Malfoy, glaring death at Ron and cracking their knuckles viciously.

Then hawthorn sang and the pale-faced boy yelled "_Flipendo!" _The knock-back jinx, Harry thought, and watched the angered redhead get pushed back several feet until he slammed into the train windows, rattling them.

"Come. We need not waste any more time on this obviously lost cause. Blood traitors the lot of them, the Weasleys."

Malfoy then turned around, and started to make his way out of the compartment; completely missing Ron's face reddening in rage. For a split second he was visibly undecided, then he let out an ugly snarl and charged.

For some reason, Malfoy's goons had walked in front of him, when the obvious threat was behind, and they had already exited the compartment, leaving Malfoy terribly vulnerable.

Later, Harry would say he took a quick decision, the truth was closer to that of an automated reaction, as his wand slid gracefully out of his pocket, into his hand and stabbed, all in the time the enraged boy used to cross the distance from the windows to the sliding doors of the compartment.

Ron yelled out in pain as his clenched fist connected with a shimmering barrier, only centimeters from the back of Malfoy's head. The boy in question quickly took another step forward before turning around, taking great care to maintain his personal space. Then he crudely raised an eyebrow, and even if his eyes were blazing and promising vengeance, he settled for a taunt;

"Not only do you cowardly attack one with his back turned, you also fight like a _muggle_?" Malfoy had a none to pleasant expression on his face as he continued:

"Squibs aren't allowed at Hogwarts, Weasley. I thought you would know that, at the very least."

Harry was pleased being on the _other side, _for once. This one time he was with the _bullies,_ and if it fazed him he hid it well, behind a bemused smirch at Malfoy's efficient jab at Weasley.

"Let's go, Potter. You should probably bring your trunk, if it's not warded properly. Wouldn't do good to be robbed before you even _get _to Hogwarts."

Luckily his trunk was not heavy, because the cabin Malfoy took him to was at the very end of the train, far from he and Ron's previous compartment.

When Harry entered the _compartment, _he thought one could surely find a better name for it. Large, open and airy, it was certainly much higher quality than the rest of the train. Immediately he found his eyes drawn to a large window, showing a magnificent vista of English countryside, passing by behind them.

Malfoy nodded his head at Harry's trunk, and one of the boys from earlier, Crabbe or Goyle, came over and easily lifted it a ledge where other trunks were resting inconspicuously. Then he lumbered back to a table in the corner, where he appeared to be playing some card game with the other one, be it Goyle or Crabbe, while munching on sweets Harry had a faint suspicion of where came from.

"Welcome to the End Compartment. And who might you be?" A tall boy with a muscular build had come over, clothed in dark robes with a silver trim, Slytherin crest displayed proudly.

"Ah, let me introduce myself properly. I am Edmund Rookwood, year four Slytherin and future Minister of Magic," here the boy, Edmund, grinned cheekily, "and who might you be?"

The way the boy was eyeing him made Harry suspect he already knew who he was, or at least suspected, but proper etiquette dictated him to introduce himself, and he was aware that Rookwood was not a name to be trifled with. The boy seemed easy going enough, though.

"Harry Potter, at your service," he replied, smiling just as mischievously back. The already airy atmosphere in the compartment lifted further, and it felt suddenly like they were just a bunch of children, not weighed down with political expectations.

At least until talk continued.

"Oh my, a celebrity! Draco, you did not tell me you knew Mr. Potter?" Rookwood was glaring at Malfoy, and Harry could not decipher the meaning of it. If he had to guess, he'd say it was half _why didn't you tell me _and half playful.

"I must be allowed to keep some secrets, surely?" The Malfoy scion replied with, and Harry suddenly hoped the political correctness and careful monitoring of speech would stop. It was tiresome, and not nearly as compatriotic as Ron had been.

"Well then Harry, can I call you Harry?" All Harry could do was answer positively before the boy kept going.

"Well then, we have to introduce you to the rest of our merry bunch of friends. Come!" And off he went, Harry trailing after, Malfoy sauntering behind, an entertained smirk on his face.

"Guess who this it, people!" Rookwood said to a group of people lounging on the extremely comfortable couches, like they hadn't all overheard the earlier conversation, or even actively listened in. One of them, with curly brown hair, sighed at Rookwood's antics, and got up.

"You are not making a very good impression, Edmund." It was said in a slightly scolding tone, and it was entertaining to see it actually had effect on Rookwood. Then he turned to Harry.

"Mr. Potter, a pleasure to make acquaintances with you. I am Michael Rosier, also fourth year. I, however, hold no unreachable ambitions of being Minister, I assure you." Then the boy, Rosier, looked at Malfoy, and added;

"I hear the salary is quite good, though." And then he winked. Harry felt befuddled, like he had missed a joke, until he realized that Malfoy's father must be Lucius, and he felt his face morphing into a grin at the jest.

"Yes, so I hear," Malfoy replied, grinning quite lopsidedly, and sat himself down in one of the couches.

"Have a seat, Harry. I can call you Harry, right?"

Said boy realized that a given name basis with the Malfoy heir would be a good thing, and the other part of him thought that in order to be proper friends one had to call each other not by their last name, so he decided to allow it. Not to would have been an insult, as well, he mused.

"Only if I can call you Draco, however." Draco smiled, and replied that of course, he had expected no different.

Time passed and Harry was introduced to a host of different people, quickly realizing that this compartment hosted only the important, and in a curious, or maybe not so, twist of fate, they were all Slytherins. Except the few first years, but they were all expected to be in the House of Snakes as well, which was where in the conversation Draco sent Harry a pointed look, and Harry thought back on Diagon Alley.

Draco hadn't made a very good impression on him, then, and he realized he was here for his fame. You could bet your life there wasn't any other half-bloods in the luxurious train cart.

_There's not a single witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin. You-Know-Who was one. _Word for word what Hagrid had said that sunny day back when he was lifted out of the miserable existence that had been life with the Dursleys.

Of course, he still lived with them, but now for two months, instead of ten. Now, he knew what he truly was. Not some _filthy _muggle.

No one had ever helped him. Never any compassion. No mercy. They didn't deserve his. They wouldn't get it.

The train rolled into the station in Hogsmeade much later, and Harry was glad. The people he had shared the ride with had been pleasant enough, and he knew forging relationships early was important, but there was a stiffness and politeness that had made the journey feel not like a ride with friends, but rather a stifling business conversation stretched over many hours and even more miles.

Now, he was truly glad to be disembarking the scarlet train, even if the level of comfort he had experienced in the so called End Compartment far surpassed anything he could have had in any normal compartment. He would still have preferred the friendly atmosphere he'd had with Ron, however.

Riding with the purebloods just wasn't the same.

Then he saw a familiar character, and felt a surge of anger. He had been lied to by someone he had considered a friend. There were _definitely _dark wizards that didn't come from Slytherin.

"Firs'-years! Firs'-years over here! All right there... Harry?"

The gamekeeper had apparently spotted him, and with him the surrounding crowd of _despicable, evil, dark Slytherin wizards._ Children, mind you. Harry had to employ mind calming techniques to stop the sudden anger at the half-giant from showing up on his face.

"C'mon, follow me – any more firs'-years? Mind yer step, now! Firs'-years follow me!"

The first years subconsciously split into two groups, one slipping and stumbling, the other walking with careful precision and grace, they made their way down a narrow path. Around was the silhouettes of trees in the darkness.

"Yeh'll get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," Hagrid called over his shoulder, "jus' round this bend here."

And that they did. This time, there were no difference between the groups, they all 'Ooooed' as one as they observed the magnificent ancient grace of Hogwarts castle, perching atop a high mountain on the other side of a giant mirror.

A thousand windows were alight, flickering in the evening sky, and they were reflected, distorted, in the surface of the mirror, the _lake. _

"No more'n four a boat!" Hagrid yelled, and the spell broke with a snap. Some looked ashamed with themselves, losing composure in public like that. But that was already done and over with, now, and they were quickly embarking the many boats floating by the shore. On each and every one stood a pole, and on that hung a lantern emitting a faint, yellow light.

Harry climbed into one with Draco, Zabini and Nott. Crabbe and Goyle got a boat for themselves, which was probably a good thing.

"Everyone in?" shouted Hagrid, whom also had a boat to himself, "Right then – FORWARD!"

The fleet rocked into motion, _a vocally triggered delayed charm, _and they sailed across the glassy water. No one, not even the ignorant _mudbloods, _broke the obviously magical moment. Wands and spells weren't all there were to magic, after all.

Soon they approached the cliffside beneath the grand castle, and Harry instinctively ducked, just before the gargantuan man yelled for people to duck; he winced internally, and hoped nobody had noticed. But the calculating dark eyes of Zabini had him worried. It wouldn't do to be exposed. If it came to that, he'd have to go to great lengths to silence the boy. Hopefully it wouldn't be so, the Zabini line might not be the most honorable, but it was pure and true to traditions, and now, if Luciana Zabini had not changed much, they had come into great sums of wealth, and it would be a shame to end it.

_Where did that come from? _Harry thought in a panic, as he climbed out of the dingy boat alongside his yearmates. But he was left no time to wonder, as they had walked through the grounds in his musing, and had now reached the huge, oak front door.

Hagrid raised a gigantic fist and knocked three times on the castle door.

The door swung open at once. A tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes stood there. She had a very stern face and Harry's first thought was that this was not someone to cross. Then he smiled mischievously. Minerva McGonagall, Gryffindor Prefect and Head Girl in '38. Days long gone, most assuredly. Reminiscing never hurt anyone, however.

"The firs'-years, Professor McGonagall," said Hagrid, and Harry's old acquaintance nodded in approval.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here."

He pulled the door wide open, auburn hair flaming in the torchlight, and the Great Hall lay open to his eyes. It was so wide you could have fitted the Dursleys entire house, with room to spare, even, in. The stone walls were lit with flaming torches, each one letting off a sheen of magic, unlike the ones at Gringotts, which had been plain old muggle sticks lit on fire. Suddenly, Harry had to suppress an urge to spit on the ground and curse the goblin nation.

High above the ceiling towered, so far away that the torchlight could never dream of reaching it, and it lay in the dark.

Facing them was the grand marble staircase that lead to the upper floors. He was finally _here!_

"Mr. Potter? Are you coming?"

Suddenly Harry realized that he had been so lost (in his mind?) _somewhere _that he had not moved with the rest, and was now left alone at the doors. The crowd had already moved halfway across the flagged stone floor.

"Of course, Professor McGonagall. I apologize." Then he hurried after them, wincing at the looks he was getting. Outside, his mask was calm porcelain, but on the inside it was a flaming red hell, his composure cracking and crumbling, the blush fighting his self-control with the viciousness of a trapped beast.

"Very well" And then she led them into a small chamber off the hall, where they all crowded together, standing much closer together than Harry would have liked.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seat in the Great Hall (_putting on an old hat), _you will be sorted into your houses. (_Slytherin!) _The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your House will be something like your family (_oh, to have one) _within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your House, sleep in your House dormitory and spend free time in your House common room."

"The four Houses are called Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Slytherin. (_Listed by order of preference, surely)_

Each House has it's own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your House points, while any rule-breaking will lose House points. At the end of the year, the House with the most points win the House Cup, a great honor.

I hope each of you will become a credit to whichever house becomes yours."

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. As such, I suggest you all smarten yourselves up while you are waiting."

Her eyes lingered for a moment Longbottom's cloak, which was fastened under his left ear, and on a smudge on Weasley's nose. Harry himself merely took it calmly, knowing that nothing he did now could possibly improve his looks. He still brushed away a fleck of imaginary dust as Draco approached him, however.

"I shall return when we are ready for you," said Professor McGonagall. "Please wait quietly."

**How was that? I kinda like where I'm taking the plot, and I feel my writing has improved since earlier fics. This one gives me many great and fresh ideas, and I think I could very well find myself continuing it.**

**Now I want to hear what you people think, the premise, characters, and, more importantly, characterization, writing style and the likes. I'm not promising ****anything, ****as I'm quite shitty at keeping up on things I'm supposed to do, but I'll probably keep writing on this. If people like it, that is. I do realize fanfiction is written for own pleasure, mostly, but if noone likes it I find it pointless.**

**So, review please, and we'll see about more of this story! The premise should be quite obvious, and I feel my subtlety could need some improvement. Oh well, until next time!**


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